Ripper (A Harry Styles fanfiction)

Chapter 21

Chapter 21 

I wake up with my head pounding, with a vicious, pulsating pain right above my left eye. I'm thirsty. My mouth is dry and feels like a bundle of cotton balls are stuffed into it. What happened last night? I remember being in the basement, being hungry and drinking - then a ghostly looking woman attacked me. No, that can't be right. I don't drink, it must of been an illusion from the excess amount of alcohol; my body just didn't know how to respond to it. 

I felt something heavy ontop of me, but I kept my eyes shut from the immense pain they were causing me. I graze my hands over the object that's holding me; it's cold yet somehow sticky with sweat. I open my eyes and immediately regret it, closing them quickly so I can shut out the painful light and I slowly, very slowly, try to sink back into the bed without waking the sleeping lion. My head spins and the throbbing increases with agony. 

Harry's holding me, even in his sleep. My memories from last night begin to flood in, and they hit me hard ... oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. 

I don't have that feeling you get after drinking anymore. The one where you're suppose to try and conjure what you did, the previous night. I know exactly what I had done, what I had said. I inwardly moan as I recount the night before me blow by blow. I am so humiliated, I can feel my face get atomically hot, I'm sure Harry can feel it as his cheek rests just below my jawline. 

I layed there for a few moments, for what seemed like hours, my mind racing, desperately trying figure out what had happened to my life. Harry. Harry had happned. I look down at him, and I can't see his face. On impulse, I reach out, touching his hair, moving it so I can see a little glimspe of his angelic face. I look at his closed eyes and his slightly distorted lips from being pressed against the pillow, and I have to catch my breath. Because he looks so different. Like he's been striped bare, and the qualities of a young boy is all that's left behind. He looks innocent and pure, and something about that makes me feel different. I don't know. 

I run my thumb across his eyebrow, smoothing it out and by touching it sends a shock through me, a spark that make my fingers buzz, scattering my thoughts. Whatever it was, I know he feels it too, because his eyes are now open and are looking right into mine. I pull my hand away, but my fingers still buzzing. 

"Hi," he says, his voice husky and choked. He barely sounds like he's awake "Do you need ice for your head?" He asks, while rubbing his right eye, like everything is all right. Like I didn't throw myself at him last night, like this is normal and nothing ever happened. But I know it happened. That I wanted him and now he knows it. 

"I think I have the flu." I croak. 

"More like a hangover, you should have some water but not too much, you might puke again." 

"Again?" 

"Yeah," Harry gives me a weak smile, "you should go look in my sink." 

I groan. "I rather not." I feel my face heating up again as embarrassment washing over me once more. 

"Belle." He says, his hand tucking a piece of hair behind my ear then doesn't move it. I want to crawl under the covers and die, but I also want him to hold me again. No matter how much I had humiliated myself last night, my desire for him hasn't changed. "Stop worrying." 

"I'm not - plus you don't even know, I - I should go." I say way too quickly for my own good and I try to sit up but the room begins to spin even faster and it hurts too much. He looks at me - remembering last night - of course he remembers. He wasn't drunk and acting like a fool. I myself remember what I had said to him, about Will. My secret, I had spilled it out as easily as my vomit. A horrified expression masks its way onto my face, because now he knows. No one was every suppose to know and now I'm sure I'm repulsive to him. That's why he hasn't broughten it up. I'm just another Penelope to him. A cheater, a decieving shark.